Rest for the Wicked
by DragonQueenSori
Summary: Darkhelm, capital of the Endless Wastes and home of the Thrice-Cursed Horde, has been named the world's third nicest city. The Black King Ludwig's not sure how this happened. GerIta AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, abuse of italics, mockery of generic fantasy elements, poor naming skills, made up creatures, and general insanity.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 1]<p>

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><p>Third nicest city.<p>

Ludwig tried again to wrap his mind around the concept and failed.

This was Darkhelm they were talking about. _Darkhelm_. Which was known by a whole slew of admittedly uncreative but impressively foreboding titles including: Throne of the Black King. Capital of the Endless Wastes. Home of the Thrice-Cursed Horde. Fortress of the Bloodmarshes. Watchtower of the Forest of Shadows. Spire of the Hellkites. Den of the Fell Mastiffs.

And so on and so forth.

The point being that no description of Darkhelm had ever even hinted that the city was anything but a shadowy, festering cesspool of misery and perversion. No description until today.

Third nicest city.

Ludwig carefully refolded the pamphlet, placed it neatly on his desk, and buried his face in his hands.

Where had he gone wrong?

Or perhaps the better question was: Where had he gone right?

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><p>Ludwig had been appointed heir to the Black Throne when he had been little more than an eight year old with sideburns and a serious inclination towards the obsessive compulsive. This was due in no small part to an incident involving his elder brother, a flock of Hellkites, and a flower girl in possession of some seriously impressive kitchen implements. The ensuing chaos had involved an incredible amount of property damage, a duel fought and won with a frying pan, copious amounts of fire, and a hell of a lot of screaming.<p>

After the fires had been put out, an impromptu meeting of the Council of Elders had determined that Gilbert would no longer hold the title of Heir Apparent. Having a ruler who unleashed terror and fire and chaos upon his people was expected with their history. Having a ruler who unleashed terror and fire and chaos on his people by _sheer accident_ was something they were not quite willing to risk.

Thus, Gilbert was stripped of his rank.

Elizabeta, on the other hand, had been entered into one of their most prestigious training academies. That sort of talent in combat was never to be overlooked, especially not in the Wastes.

When the still slightly charred Council had gathered round the confused eight year old to deliver the news, Ludwig had taken his appointment to first in line about as well as anyone could have expected. That is to say he solemnly swore that he would become a great ruler with all the gravitas a child could muster.

It was probably on that day, amongst the ash and the pandemonium that Ludwig's current problems began.

Ludwig had sworn to become a great ruler. And to his eight year old mind, this meant order and discipline. He would raise his people out of the gutters and into prosperity. He would make it safe to sleep at night and would make it so his people felt no unnecessary fear. His people would look at the one on the throne and know that their leader, though firm and strict and sometimes harsh, had their best interests at heart. And there would be no doubting this.

Which was all well and good except for one fact. The throne he would one day inherit was the Black Throne. People did not look at the person sitting on this throne and expect that they had their best interests at heart.

Usually the most anyone could hope for was a lack of genocide.

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><p>It was fast approaching midday, which meant that Elizabeta would soon stop her official job in favor of her unofficial one. The job that earned her a paycheck involved beating the absolute crap out of a bunch of recruits in an effort to turn them into something an enemy would run away from screaming if they saw them coming their way. Right now her recruits were more likely to run away screaming than to inspire such terror in others.<p>

Oh well, she wouldn't be paid so much if her official job was easy.

Her unofficial job wasn't much easier, but she found it much more enjoyable. If anyone asked what her unofficial job was, she would answer that she was something of a mathematician. It wasn't a lie, strictly speaking. Except the problems she was working through had less to do with X plus Y equaling Z and more to do with Recruit A and Recruit B in Position C.

Or maybe Position D. Position D was one of her favorites.

An interest in math was enough of a rarity in the kingdom that no one tried to strike up a conversation on the subject with her. No one called her on her claim. No one thought anything of her calculating silences. They even attributed those blank smiling expressions she was prone to sinking into as 'one of those math things'. Her guilty little secret was safe from the masses and she was free to admire a seemingly endless train of attractive and physically fit men on a daily basis.

The only thing that could make it better was if she could actually find some proof that Recruit A and Recruit B regularly engaged in Position C. Or D.

Hell, she'd be happy with evidence of Position E.

Her recruits paused in their exercises and snapped into salutes that couldn't be anything but military in their execution. Elizabeta, pulled from her thoughts, turned to see who had caught their attention and found the hulking figure of their ruler making his way towards them. Elizabeta frowned, but saluted as well.

Something was up.

Ludwig was a firm believer in schedules and hated when order was disrupted. If he was coming to speak with her now, it meant that whatever it was that he wanted to discuss was important enough to disrupt the training schedule and end the recruits' exercises early.

Admittedly, it was only two minutes early, but this was Ludwig they were talking about here.

"Dismissed!" she barked, and the recruits scattered. Elizabeta spared one final moment to observe how Recruit A and Recruit B sent each other lingering looks before turning her undivided attention to her King.

"Afternoon, Ludwig." This wasn't the traditional method of greeting the Black King. The traditional method involved much groveling in the dirt and a lot of pitiful whimpering, most of which went along the lines of 'please don't kill me'.

Elizabeta wasn't one for tradition. She was also fond of buying herself new clothes. These facts weren't unrelated. She wasn't going to buy herself nice things just to get them dirty. And no way in hell would she ever be caught whimpering.

"Good afternoon, Elizabeta." Ludwig replied, and then made a sort of shuffling motion with his feet that indicated he needed to discuss something personal/involving emotion/awkward but instead of getting right to the point, he'd putter about making small talk first.

"So, how is the training progressing?"

Yeah, here came the small talk.

"Oh, they're a pathetic bunch of losers, but I've managed to pound the basics into them. Some of them have even got potential. Not Black Guard potential, but I don't think they'll be getting themselves eaten by anything without putting up a fight. Some might even give whatever's eaten them indigestion."

Ludwig's lips made an aborted attempt at curling up around the edges. Damn, whatever was bothering him was serious. Usually Ludwig could manage at least a constipated smirk.

Time to cut to the chase.

"Do you have something you need to discuss with me?"

Ludwig made another shuffling motion and adjusted his cape before speaking.

"Do the people live in fear?"

Elizabeta paused.

They lived in the Wastes. Something could swoop in out of nowhere and make off with you as you walked the two blocks between your house and the nearest food vendor. Fear, or at least a decent air of wariness, was mandatory for anyone who wanted to live a long and healthy life. Or, you know, walk the two blocks to the nearest food vendor and buy lunch.

"Do you mean fear of you, or just general fear?" she asked delicately. Ludwig tended to take what he saw as his own failings as a ruler rather hard. She had hoped to ease him into it, but her response only seemed to confirm whatever it was that Ludwig was hung up about. His shoulders slumped and he somehow managed to look intimidating and pathetic at the same time.

"Third nicest city."

Elizabeta blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"_The Inebriated Bard_ has ranked Darkhelm third in this year's list of nicest cities to live in."

Elizabeta blinked. "Beg pardon?"

Ludwig repeated his shameful admission and watched as the most notorious mathematician in Darkhelm struggled to put two and two together. It was at least somewhat comforting to know that the situation wasn't mindboggling only to him.

"Are- Are you sure?" Elizabeta asked, at a loss.

"Affirmative. I read the article. The whole article. Three times. There can be no mistake about what it said."

Ludwig so wound up about this that if he'd been a clock he'd be spewing gears out his ass. Elizabeta immediately started damage control.

"Maybe you just need some time to think about this. Why don't you take a break. Clear your head. I'm sure the answer will come to you."

"Yes." Ludwig let out a sigh and ran his finger though his hair. "I- I need to calm down. Step back and take another look at things before acting."

Elizabeta proceeded to break more traditions and patted Ludwig comfortingly on the arm.

"Don't worry, sir. You'll think of something. You always do."

"I- Thank you." He gave her a brief salute before turning away.

Elizabeta snapped a salute more out of habit than anything else. She watched Ludwig slink away and wished, not for the first time, that she knew what added to Ludwig would bring him happiness.

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><p>Up in the second highest tower in Darkhelm, the Black King surveyed his kingdom with a critical eye. He followed the slopes and peaks of his city out into the horizon line where everything blurred into dark indistinct shapes.<p>

What had gone wrong? What was there for him to fix?

Ludwig looked down from his vantage point. In one of the courtyards the Hellkites were being fed by their keeper. The huge birds were shrieking and squabbling as they gleefully tore into what were probably strips of blood-black flesh.

Or melons. Hellkites liked melons.

It occurred to him that this was the problem with Darkhelm. On the surface the country was filled with nothing but backstabbing, bloodthirsty brutes who reveled in their reputation for being brutish, bloodthirsty backstabbers.

But then you got a closer look and you realized that there was something more to them. Flesh-eating Hellkites like melons. Fell Mastiffs were actually good family dogs. Toilers in the Sweatpits got free healthcare. Members of the Black Guard were all accomplished ballroom dancers.

That pockmarked, one-eyed, odorous, lecherous fool of a troll that lurked outside town by the old bridge and threated bodily harm if passersby didn't give him something shiny was named Karl. And if you gave Karl a goat meat sandwich, Karl would pull out a worn wooden flute and play you the most heartbreaking off key melody you'd ever heard.

They were all a bit like Karl really. Their outsides might be filthy, or rancid, or bloodstained, or treacherous, or plague carrying, or untrustworthy, or gnarled, or grease stained, or- Well, a whole lot of unpalatable things.

But they weren't bad people. Deep down they were kind of, sort of, maybe nice people that you might possibly want to sit down and eat lunch with.

And _no one_ was supposed to know about that. How had that damned magazine found out? They'd been keeping this secret for centuries. They'd taken great pride in their horrible reputation.

He needed to do something, something that would reestablish Darkhelm as a horrible place to be. But he'd just renovated the South Quarter, so he couldn't raze that part of the city. And they'd been a little shaky on the food supply, so he couldn't go kill some farmers unless he wanted to invite famine. He could declare war on someone, but that would just result in some rather embarrassing diplomatic meetings.

He could imagine the ambassadors now. 'You want to attack our country because someone said nice things about you?'

Damn, it would be so much easier if he could just go kill something... Wait.

He could go kill something. The Waste was teeming with monsters. He could go out, hunt down, and utterly slaughter some horrible abomination. His reputation as the Black King would be mended, and he could drag the thing home leaving trails of blood and gore on the streets where he had passed. That would reestablish Darkhelm's image.

Except he'd need to let the janitorial people know so they could get it cleaned up in a suitably quick fashion. Bodily waste lying about was an invitation for plague. And there were things that lived in the shadows that would be attracted by the scent of blood.

PR was good. Plague and swarms of monsters were bad.

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><p>Ludwig swept into the stables early the next morning making an impressive figure in the low lying fog. Stable hands bowed as he passed and went about their jobs with nervous efficiency. None wished to be accused by their king of ineptitude. He passed them without a word. At the back of the stable, his horse was saddled and ready for him.<p>

Ludwig's horse had been named Bootcrusher by a man who was either a prime example of why no one ever accused Wastelanders of subtlety or who had decided to give all future riders fair warning. Bootcrusher was fond of trampling.

The Black King's steed is typically depicted as midnight black with eyes of flame.

While brown and broad and rather plain looking, Bootcrusher had a vicious streak wide enough for several stereotypical fiendish mounts.

Actually, it was a wonder he hadn't caused any fatalities amongst the stable staff. Yet.

Ludwig and Bootcrusher commenced with their traditional standoff until Bootcrusher finally looked away signaling that Ludwig had his consent to climb upon his back.

Danger passed, Ludwig whistled and was immediately flanked by happy hairy bodies.

Ludwig had three Fell Mastiffs who give him their absolute obedience. Throughout the Wastes, they were known as Misery, Sorrow, and Despair.

Ludwig called them Aster, Blackie, and Berlitz.

His most loyal subjects looked up at him, tails wagging. He gave the smallest of smiles in return, his eyes softening.

"Are we ready to go?"

Aster, their leader, barked in eagerness.

Ludwig mounted his horse, dug his heels into Bootcrusher's flanks and they were off, Aster, Blackie, and Berlitz panting joyfully behind them.

It was time to hunt.

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><p>Hunting in the Endless Wastes wasn't so much hunting as it was a stalking contest. You would stalk your prey and your prey would stalk you, and whoever managed to out stalk the other would win and whoever didn't would be dead. Of course, in order to stalk something, you had to find it first. And things in the Wastes were very good at not being found and not being seen until it was much too late to do anything but let out one last desperate scream.<p>

Luckily, Fell Mastiffs had good noses.

Aster lifted his from the ground and gave a bark, signaling he'd found something. Ludwig dismounted and trudged over to Aster's position, giving his companion a pat on the head in gratitude.

In the mud was a print of largish size. Ludwig knelt to examine it. Three long tapering toes in a V shape with a squashed oval at their base where the stunted fourth toe had touched ground. The pricks of claws could also be made out. Ludwig knew what this was.

"Skips." he breathed.

It was odd that something in the Wastes would possess such an unassuming name as 'Skips'. Of course, one should never assume that something with such a name was benign in nature. This name was born was more out of convenience than anything else.

In the old tongue, they were called 'Leaping-Dancers-With-Hollow-Eyes-Crowned-With-The-Horn-Of-The-Ram-Who-Frolic-In-The-Carnage-Of-The-Red-Painted-Villiage-That-We-Must-Now-Clean-And-Whose-Dead-We-Must-Now-Bury-Even-Though-We-Have-Better-Things-To-Do-Today'.

Obviously, this took a long time to say and most people would be gored before they could get the name out.

The ability to scream 'Look out! Skips!' raised the survival rate by an almost ridiculous percentile.

Skips looked like bipedal alligators whose heads had been replaced by goat skulls. They moved with a peculiar bouncing gait that earned them their nickname. It went without saying that they were dangerous.

Ludwig whistled and gave a terse command. Immediately, he had been surrounded by his Mastiffs who stood guard around him in a triangle. The best way to fight a Skip was on foot. They were fond of making leaping attacks that could knock a man clean off his horse and ripping his torso open while he lay stunned on the ground.

Ludwig readied his sword and followed the prints through the gloom, the Fells Mastiff guarding him as he went. Their surroundings were as still, quiet, and ominous as ever.

They followed the tracks through trees and slopes and various tangles of foliage before emerging onto what might pass for a road. Ludwig glanced around suspiciously at the newfound openness and breathed deep.

The air was filled with the smell of dampness, and tree bark, and a scent that Ludwig was very familiar with.

Old blood.

There had been fighting nearby. Recently. And someone, or several someone's, had been gravely injured.

But who? Or what?

He soon found his answer.

It looked to have been a caravan, but what such a thing would be doing out here was beyond Ludwig. This area was not safe, anyone could see that. The smashed wooden remains of what had probably once been carts littered the area. A wheel here, a board there, splinters everywhere.

The horses were gone. Drag marks in the mud indicated the Skips had taken them away to feed.

All that was left was the travelers themselves.

Most of the group was dead, scattered about in blood and muck with their fancy clothes in tatters and their bodies oddly contorted. But there was one who was still alive, chest rising and falling shallowly. Ludwig walked to where they lay. They were facedown and unmoving, but the blood that covered them didn't appear to be theirs. Probably they had just been knocked unconscious. He rolled them onto their back for a better look, the heel of his boot leaving a strip of filth across their side.

Ludwig's first thought was of sunshine.

There wasn't really sunshine in the Wastes. There was _sunlight_, yes, but sunshine didn't really happen. Sunshine was too delicate, too hopeful, and cheerful, and innocent to dwell in the gray bleakness of the Wastes. And for all that sunshine just shouldn't be here, Ludwig could look at this stranger and think of nothing else. They just seemed to _glow_.

He took in their appearance with quiet shallow breaths, as if this person would startle and disappear if he was too loud or moved too fast. Slowly, cautiously, he knelt down beside them.

They were beautiful. No, she was beautiful. Examining the soft curves of her face and her pale sloping neck, Ludwig wondered how he could have doubted that she was anything else. She was flat chested, yes, and a little bony, but her creamy skin was smooth and unblemished and her hair was a rich shade of auburn nearly red in its intensity.

Ludwig reached out and swept a strand of hair away from her face. She gave a quiet whimper, and moved slightly. The movement drew Ludwig's attention to a slender gold chain hanging from her neck. After a moment of blushing consideration, he decided that he wasn't being ungentlemanly, and withdrew the necklace from under her collar.

A golden charm dangled from the chain, glinting dully in the poor light. He swept his thumb over the charm and studied the looping curves of metal. It was a crest. He thought for a minute before realizing what it was.

The Vargas family crest.

Vargas. Royal family of Volga.

When it dawned on Ludwig what it was that he had just done, he only barely resisted the urge to scream.

Two damning facts became immediately apparent.

One: The Vargas family had no princesses. This was a prince. As in male.

The last few minutes became horribly embarrassing.

And two: The Black King of Darkhelm had, for all intents and purposes, just rescued a princess.

Gods help him.

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>Continue?<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, abuse of italics, mockery of generic fantasy elements, poor naming skills, made up creatures, and general insanity.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 2]<p>

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><p>Ludwig sat on a chair in one of the many, many bedrooms the palace contained. A healer had given the prince a once over and assured Ludwig that he was fine and should wake up shortly. Which didn't really explain why Ludwig was the one performing this vigil. He could have ordered a servant to do this. Gods knew he had enough of them to boss around.<p>

But something had rebelled at the thought of leaving his unexpected guest to wake up with only the company of a stranger. Not that Ludwig wasn't a stranger...

Ok, so he didn't really have any idea why he was sitting there, but Elizabeta had been supportive of the idea.

He wished she had stayed, but she had excused herself on the grounds that she had a math problem to work through. He hoped she'd solve it soon. He could use the moral support. Social situations weren't really his thing.

He needed backup if he wanted to get through staff meetings. How was he supposed to navigate his way through a conversation that could foreseeably send two nations to war?

He shifted uncomfortably on his chair and sent a desperate glance towards the door. Elizabeta failed to walk through it.

Ludwig forced himself to draw a deep breath. He needed to calm down. Everything was going to be fine. It was just talking. He'd done a good number of things far more complicated and dangerous this. There was nothing to be nervous about. He could do this. He could do this. He could- Oh gods, the prince was waking up!

He couldn't do this! Abort! Abort! Abort!

The little brunette stirred under the blankets and rolled over. Things went well until he opened his eyes and saw Ludwig. Then he burst into tears. The waterworks weren't surprising. In fact, it was pretty much the standard response for waking up on a bed with the Black King nearby.

"Um, hello?" said Ludwig. It seemed like a safe thing to begin a conversation with.

"Please don't hurt me!" his guest screamed.

"I'm not going to-" he tried to offer some comforting reassurances about personal safety, but the prince continued screaming.

"I don't want to die!"

"You're not going to-"

"There are still so many pastas I haven't tried!"

"Pasta?" Ludwig asked. What did pasta have to do with anything?

The brunette failed to give a helpful response.

"This is all because I'm a virgin, isn't it?"

Ludwig went decidedly pink at this admission.

"H- How is that-"

"You're going to chop me up into bits and eat me! Or make me a sacrifice! Or-"

Contrary to popular belief, cannibalism wasn't practiced in the Wastes. To be fair, sacrifice sometimes was. But only on special, ceremonial occasions. It's not like they could afford to go sacrificing people left and right. They had enough problems keeping their population stable as it was. What with the monsters and the wars and all.

Ludwig felt vaguely insulted at being stereotyped like that.

"-toss me on a bed and pillage me because I'm a virgin!"

Did you pillage virgins? Ludwig wondered, too confused to really even follow the conversation anymore. His guest continued on without him.

"-hide in boxes and run away from people who want to hit you with sticks. I thought he was kidding. Why didn't I listen? But there were no boxes! Why would there be boxes in the middle of a forest? Well, unless you're a merchant. But we weren't merchants. I wouldn't want to be a merchant. They get attacked by robbers. And robbers have-"

He was pretty sure 'pillaging' wasn't an action you performed on virgins.

"I bet they even enjoy kicking kitties! Why would you do that? Poor kitties. I mean, sure sometimes their tongues are all scratchy and it's really scary when a whole bunch of them surround you surround you and just stare at you like you have something they want and-"

Ravage, maybe? You ravaged virgins?

"-it's my pasta! Why won't you listen to me? I made it special for me and my brother and all my friends and that weird guy down at the gate who smells like oranges and glue. I'll share it with you! Why do you have to be so mean? All you had to do was ask and I'd share it with you, even if you are-"

Or maybe it was ravished? Yeah, ravished sounded right.

"Tomatoes! They're not as good as pasta, not matter what Lovino says, but that doesn't mean you can just throw them at people! Well, except during the holidays, but that's different. You're supposed to throw things then. Just not pasta, cause pasta-"

So Vargas wasn't worried about Ludwig tossing him on a bed a pillaging him, he was worried about Ludwig tossing him on a bed and-

The prince continued with his panicked babbling, uncaring that the Black King had just gone three shades of red and started having a coughing fit.

Ludwig was still choking on his own spit when Elizabeta came back carrying a bundle of clothes.

Elizabeta took in the image of the sobbing prince, and then turned at Ludwig, who looked absolutely lost and a tad mortified. She sighed.

"Do I really have to do everything around here?" she placed her bundle on the bedside table and turned to Vargas. His tears lessened to a minor trickle compared to the deluge of moments ago.

Elizabeta gave a calming, maternal smile. "What's your name, sweetie?"

The little prince sniffed. "Ve- It's Feliciano."

"Well hello, Feliciano. It's nice to meet you. My name is Elizabeta."

"Hello." Feliciano said shyly.

"You've gone through quite a rough patch, haven't you? Do you remember what happened?"

Feliciano looked down, biting his lip and grasping the covers anxiously, before vigorously shaking his head no.

Elizabeta kept smiling. "No? I thought as much. You were attacked. You see that man over there?"

She gestured to Ludwig, who sat up almost impossibly straight.

"He's the one who rescued you."

Feliciano gave Ludwig a cautious once over, his expression clearly one of disbelief.

"Ve. What about everyone else?"

Elizabeta's smile fell. "I'm sorry Feliciano. Ludwig didn't make it in time to save anyone else."

Feliciano's lip wobbled and he began to cry quietly.

"Oh, sweetie. Shh. Shh. Hush now. It'll be ok." She wrapped her arms around him. Feliciano buried his face in her chest. Ludwig sat awkwardly in the corner like the high priest of third wheels.

Eventually, Feliciano stopped crying. He pulled away from Elizabeta, sniffing and rubbing his eyes.

"Thank you for saving me Mr.-?" he stared at Ludwig, waiting for a response.

"Ludwig." he hastily supplied "I'm Ludwig."

"Thank you very much, Ludwig!"

"You're welcome, Feliciano."

He received a small smile and a watery "Ve." from the prince.

Elizabeta was smiling again too. "See. Not so bad, is it?"

Feliciano shook his head and Ludwig began to think that they could get through this without anything going horribly wrong. Of course, since the gods hated him, this was precisely when his brother kicked open the door.

"Alright losers!" Gilbert roared "Awesome's here!"

Feliciano took one look at Gilbert's blood red eyes and descended into hysterics. Elizabeta promptly tossed them both out and forbade them from returning until they stopped being insensitive assholes.

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><p>The two brothers stood on a balcony on the east tower. Ludwig rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off a migraine. Gilbert rubbed the angry red welt Elizabeta had left on his face.<p>

"Damn, I keep forgetting how hard that woman hits." Gilbert moaned, and gave his forehead a tentative poke. He winced.

"I don't know how you do, seeing as she's hitting you almost constantly."

Gilbert frowned. "I am not being hit constantly."

"Really?" Ludwig dropped his hands and looked at his brother. "Name one conversation where she hasn't hit you upside the head."

"I can name plenty!" Gilbert defended.

"Ok. Name one conversation where she hasn't hit you upside the head or threatened to hit you upside the head."

Gilbert was silent.

"You see?" Ludwig said, and put his face in his hands once more. He was quite content to stand there and fret about his situation, but Gilbert never had been one for silence.

"So, what're you going to do about the princess?

"He's not a princess, brother. He's male. That makes him a prince."

Gilbert shrugged, nonplussed.

"I don't care what gender you say he is. He's wearing a frilly robe. That makes him a princess."

"He's not a princess, he's just... foreign."

"Whatever you say, brother."

Honestly, Ludwig had no idea why any self-respecting male would wear something white and frilly. It seemed so utterly inconvenient. How were you supposed to do any work in something that was essentially a dress? Then again, the information the Wastes had on Volga would suggest that all the people in that country did was eat grapes and make paintings. Maybe their lifestyle supported that style of dress. Or something.

He guessed it was just one of those things that foreigners did that he'd never understand. Like kissing hello. Or being 'fashionably late'.

Ludwig looked up, surveying his capital fondly. This was his birthright, handed down to him by a long line of feared rulers. He was not about to let his actions bring dishonor to their memory.

"What am I going to do, Gil? This was supposed to make things better. Instead I've made it worse."

Gilbert thought for a moment.

"Why not just say you kidnapped the frilly little wriggler?" he suggested.

Ludwig frowned.

"But that would be a lie."

Gilbert gave a long suffering sigh. His little brother never had quite got the hang of this.

"You're the Black King, Luddy. It's in the job description."

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><p>Ludwig returned to Feliciano's room about an hour after he'd been tossed out. He brought a pastry with him as a peace offering. Though whether he was trying to appease Feliciano or Elizabeta was up for debate. He gave a cautious knock.<p>

"Um, may I come in?"

There was a muffled noise from the other side of the door that Ludwig guessed was affirmative. It didn't matter either way. It was his castle, after all. He strode inside, closing the door after him.

Feliciano was sitting on the corner of the bed, staring out the window into the overcast sky of the Wastes. Elizabeta was conspicuously absent. Ludwig gave a small nod of approval at his guest's new attire. He was now dressed in a sensible, if bland, pair of pants.

No more frilly dresses.

"I- I brought you some food."

Feliciano didn't respond. Ludiwg shuffled his feet in a way he knew had become habit. He did it every time he felt uncomfortable or out of his depth. Heart-to-hearts were nowhere near his area of expertise.

"Did Elizabeta leave you here?"

"I wanted to be alone." his captive murmured.

"Oh." Ludwig performed another awkward shuffle. "Well-"

"Is it ever sunny here?" Feliciano asked, still looking at the clouds.

"No. Not really."

"I miss the sun."

Feliciano turned. His shirt was crumpled, his buttons hadn't been done up properly. Ludwig gave a small twitch. Sloppy dressers were the bane of his existence.

"Elizabeta told me I have to stay here. I don't like it. It's dark and I feel like there are things watching me. It's not a happy place. I want to go home. Home was happy."

Ludwig was about to point out that this was the Wastes, so of course there'd be things watching him and unhappiness was to be expected. But Feliciano looked dangerously close to tears as it was. Ludwig switched tactics.

"Sometimes things aren't happy." he began. "Sometimes the world is a miserable and scary place. But you can't let that stop you. You can't let that get you down. Just look at us. Where would we be if we just gave up every time something unpleasant happened? Our country wouldn't exist. We'd all be dead. Killed or eaten by the things out there."

Ludwig paused.

Did this count as a motivational speech? Was he doing this right?

"Sometimes you have to be the one to make the world someplace worth living. Find something worth enjoying. Find something to make you happy. You never know."

He thrust the pastry forward as a peace offering.

"Maybe things weren't as bad as you first thought they were."

Feliciano looked at Ludwig, then at the pastry, then back to Ludwig. He took the plate, a slow, hesitant motion. The pastry was approached in the same manner of a wild animal, and Feliciano poked it a few times. What the purpose of that was, Ludwig had no idea, but he didn't interrupt. He remained still and silent until Feliciano had lifted it to his mouth and taken a bite.

Feliciano smiled, fruit filling smeared around the edges of his mouth. Ludwig suppressed the urge to wipe his face. And straighten his collar. And re-button his shirt.

"I thought you were scary, but you're very nice, Mr. Guard."

Ludwig blinked. Nice? Guard? Feliciano thought he was some kindly castle guard? Well, that wouldn't do.

"Ah, no. I'm not a guard. I'm the Black King." Ludwig corrected.

Feliciano stared at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, before bursting into tears once again.

Ludwig sighed. This was going to be a long day.

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The response to the first chapter was rather surprising, and I have to admit that I didn't really have anything planned. I just sort of wrote the chapter and posted it.<strong>

**Since you all seemed to like it so much, I've decided to give this thing a shot. I now possess a vague story outline and I hope you'll allow me the chance to get into the swing of things. This chapter fell a little flat, but I think I'll have a better idea of where I want this to go by the time the next chapter comes around.**

**Please note that this story currently plays second banana to my USUK fic, so things will be slow going until I manage to complete that.**

**Thanks again for your enthusiastic responses and your patience with me and my writing.**

**Continue?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, abuse of italics, mockery of generic fantasy elements, poor naming skills, made up creatures, and general insanity.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 3]<p>

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><p>Two weeks after Feliciano's rescue, or kidnapping if you believed the story Gilbert had managed to concoct, Ludwig went to check in on him and found the room empty. For one brief moment he surrendered to the delusion that his guest had manned up and executed some form of escape attempt. It wasn't entirely unbelievable. The messenger they'd sent to deliver the news of Feliciano's kidnapping-but-not-really had returned the evening before with tidings that Volga was willing to enter hostage negotiations and had delivered to Ludwig a very flowery letter from some Volgan or another about why he should not kill Feliciano, assuming he had not done so already.<p>

It was not a stretch to imagine that Feliciano had heard of this and chosen to flee while his country's attention was fixed in his direction, thereby increasing the odds that he'd be found and rescued.

Then Ludwig remembered it was Feliciano they were talking about. All evidence was to the contrary.

Feliciano had spent his first week of captivity alternating between scared out of his mind and depressed. Ludwig hadn't been comfortable with this, but hadn't done anything about it until Elizabeta had given him an earful. After that, Ludwig had visited and made sure that Feliciano understood that nothing bad was going to happen to him. He'd made arrangements to make Feliciano more comfortable. The room was transformed into something more closely resembling Volgan design, the cooks were given orders to try and make the food more palatable, and Feliciano was given permission to leave his room explore certain areas of the palace provided he had a guard with him at all times.

Ludwig had been a bit nervous about that last one, fearing that allowing Feliciano to leave his room might somehow be encouraging him to escape. He'd had guards posted at key intersections should Feliciano somehow escape the watchful eye of his assigned escort. But so far, without fail, Feliciano had returned to his rooms after his had finished exploring.

Every time.

Any self-respecting person of his country would have tried to escape five times over by this point. But Feliciano hadn't tried even once. In fact, Feliciano had seemed so stupidly docile that Ludwig couldn't help but think he was up to something. He'd tried to interrogate Feliciano about this, but that approach had only led to tears. And Ludwig's attempts to stop these tears had led Feliciano to the mistaken belief that Ludwig was trying to befriend him.

Which Ludwig wasn't. No matter what Elizabeta said.

The Black King didn't have friends. He had acquaintances. Which Feliciano was rapidly becoming. So what?

Ludwig heaved a sigh and shut the door, heading to the nearest guard to ascertain in what direction Feliciano might have gone. He received a rigid salute when he approached, the guardsman eyeing him nervously.

"Your Majesty! How might I be of service?"

"Did you happen to see which way Feliciano went?"

"Yes, My Lord. I believe he was headed to the kitchens."

Ludwig's gaze snapped to the man so fast the guardsman actually flinched. "What did you say?"

"S-Sir?" stuttered the guardsman, starting to perspire.

"Repeat what you just said. That's an order."

"I-I think he went to the kitchens?" the guard whimpered.

Ludwig snarled and dashed away, headed towards the kitchens. Feliciano had not been given permission to go there. His guard should not have allowed it. But Ludwig was beginning to see that this had been Feliciano's plan all along. He had played dumb, gotten Ludwig's guard down, and befriended a guard so that he could make it to the kitchens. Ludwig began running down several flights of steps. He had to admit, he didn't know what Feliciano was planning to do. The kitchens and the route to them provided no easy means of escape.

Whatever he was planning was obviously cunning. Ludwig decided to call for backup, tearing the whistle he wore on his belt from its cord and giving three sharp blasts. He could hear no sound, but his Fell Mastiffs could.

By the time he was on the same level as the kitchens, there were three canines loping cheerfully behind him.

He made it to the kitchen door and kicked it open, expecting to find carnage and chaos.

Instead he found Feliciano stirring a bubbling pot of something while three cooks looked on and Feliciano's guard slurped something happily in the corner. They all turned at the sound of the door. The palace employees froze in horror; the guard still had a fork of noodles positioned halfway to his mouth.

Feliciano smiled.

"Ve! Hello Ludwig! We're making pasta!"

Ludwig made a disgruntled noise, but relaxed out of his battle stance. This wasn't about escaping. This was about pasta. Again.

Ludwig had made the assumption that pasta was just noodles, only different. He couldn't have been more incorrect. For Feliciano, pasta wasn't a food. Pasta was a way of life. He'd put much time and effort into trying to help the palace cooks divine the proper means of preparing this food to no avail, so he'd apparently made a visit to show them first hand.

Ludwig's Fell Mastiffs whined in confusion, looking up at him for orders. Ludwig decided it was time to find out what was going on here. But first he needed to correct a glaring breach of etiquette.

"How many times have I told you to address me by my title?"

"But we're friends. Friends call each other by their names." Feliciano hesitated. "We are friends, right?"

He looked tearful, so Ludwig just made a grunting noise that under no circumstances meant yes. Feliciano just happened to interpret it that way. And Ludwig was far too busy doing kingly things like berating the guard to bother correcting him.

"You!" he snapped at the guard and then gestured to Feliciano "What is he doing here?"

"Well, you'd given orders to the cooks to make the kind of food he likes. They haven't been having much success, and I thought-"

"That's your problem. You thought. I pay you to follow orders, not make them up yourself. You are dismissed. Report back to your post tomorrow and be glad I don't punish you for this."

The guard slunk off without a sound, obviously disbelieving that he wasn't going to be whipped for this and not willing to press his luck by disappointing the Black King further. Ludwig sent the cooks away with a bark of "Back to Work!" and approached Feliciano. He still looked cheerful, if a bit confused.

"Ve? Why is everybody in trouble?"

"They are in trouble because they disobeyed my orders. And stop looking so happy! You're in trouble too!"

"Why am I in-"

"You deliberately disobeyed my order that you be confined to specific areas of the palace. The kitchens were off limits, and you chose to go there anyway. Therefore, I am taking away your privilege to leave your room for the rest of the day. I will escort you back." Ludwig announced, with every expectation of being obeyed.

"May I take my pasta with me?" Feliciano asked softly.

"Fine." Ludwig conceded "Since you went through the trouble of making it yourself, you may eat it. Come. I will take you to the dining hall."

Feliciano hesitated.

Feliciano had been to the Dining Hall during an informal tour he'd been given by one of the more cheerful guards Ludwig had assigned. Feliciano hadn't liked the gloomy atmosphere and the stuffed heads of various creatures that had been mounted on the wall had disturbed him. In fact, he'd been so frightened by some of them that the guard had had to call off the tour and promise him pasta just to get him to calm down. Feliciano's expression indicated that he didn't have any intentions of going back there any time soon.

"Or maybe we could just go outside." Ludwig amended.

Feliciano's smile made the decision for him.

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><p>Ludwig took Feliciano to the Healer's Terrace where various medicinal plants were grown and looked after. It wasn't a flower garden and nothing was in bloom, but everything was green and the air smelt crisp and alive.<p>

Feliciano broke into a smile when they arrived and skipped off into the isles lined with foliage, Berlitz hot on his heels.

Ludwig, Aster, and Blackie followed at a more leisurely pace. They padded softly passed leafy things whose purpose Ludwig could not begin to fathom and eventually found Feliciano and Berlitz settled under some sort of stunted tree.

"Ve! Ludwig! Come sit with us!" Feliciano raised his arm above his head and raised it in a frantic and ridiculous fashion as he said this. Ludwig was beginning to wonder if maybe Feliciano had some sort of trouble controlling his limbs.

Aster and Blackie sat down in the dirt with Berlitz and the foreigner. Ludwig spent a moment checking for the signs the healers posted if nearby plants could be harmful to those who did not know how to properly handle them. There were quite a lot of those types of plants in the Wastes. But there didn't seem to be any signs nearby, so Ludwig sat carefully in the stone isle and watched Feliciano attempt to feed the Fell Mastiffs his strange noodles.

He was proud to note that his companions refused to sample the strange dish. Blackie had looked very interested, though.

"Ve, Ludwig?" Feliciano called.

Ludwig gave him his attention. "Yes? What is it?"

"Well, I was just wondering, why do you wear armor all the time? Is it parade dress?" He pointed to Ludwig's attire as he asked this.

Ludwig had to look down to confirm that he was indeed wearing armor. He'd just gotten so used to it over the years that he sometimes forgot he was wearing it.

Instead of answering, Ludwig asked "What's parade dress?"

"It's like regular armor, only really shiny." Feliciano explained.

"Why would anyone wear shiny armor into combat? It eliminates all stealth options, and only makes you a target for long range fighters. A good crossbowman would pick you off in seconds flat."

"You actually don't wear parade dress for fighting." Feliciano corrected "It's not strong enough to protect you from anything."

"You mean to tell me that, in your country, solider don armor that serves no purpose but to look impressive."

"Ve, I guess so."

Ludwig sat there aghast, mind reeling at the discovery that there could be armor that did not serve a military function. Why would anyone do such a thing? What sort of insane country had Feliciano been living in?

Feliciano giggled at the expression of Ludwig's face.

"You still haven't answered my question." he chirped.

Ludwig blinked away his stupor and tried to come up with an answer. "Well, tradition, I suppose."

The Black King must always be prepared for battle, be it warfare or assassination attempts. The need for constant vigilance had eventually come to mean that the Black King wore armor at all times. Although, the definition of armor had to be stretched if one wanted to include some of the outfits Black Queens had historically been able to get away with. Ludwig himself had sixteen sets of armor for casual wear, five for formal occasions, and a whole store room full of extremely well crafted specimens for actual combat engagements.

Feliciano gave a hum, apparently pleased by the answer, and stuck more pasta into his mouth.

"So does everything in this country have to do with fighting?"

"Basically, yes." Ludwig answered with no hesitation.

Feliciano put his plate down, ignoring Blackie and his hungry sniffs.

"So you don't do anything here if it doesn't involve war? What about cooking? Painting? Dancing? Singing?"

Ludwig took in the look of faint desperation on Feliciano's face and decided that before he returned Feliciano to his room, he'd take him to see Roderich.

* * *

><p>Roderich was unique in the Wastes in that he possessed a talent that was even stranger and more useless than Elizabeta's odd tendency towards math.<p>

Roderich was a musician.

Not a player of the war drums or a cheap barroom performer, but an honest to god musician. He'd made into the court because he was talented, but no one else had had any idea what to do with him. Anywhere else in the Wastes, he would have been eaten long ago. Here he flourished, thriving on tidbits of foreign culture and composing waltzes. The waltzes were a point of contention between Ludwig and Roderich. Ludwig would have been fine if the man had just stayed out of his way and composed his music in solitude. But the man insisted on composing waltzes and then spent a great amount of time trying to convince Ludwig to have them played.

But waltzes were not played unless the Black King was having a ball. And the Black King did not host balls unless he wanted to kill off members of the aristocracy in a suitably lavish fashion. That was half the reason members of the Black Guard were required to learn ballroom dances. They had to dance with guests in order to prevent them from escaping and when the time came for the inevitable executions they had to perform them in an elegant manner appropriate to the expensive decor.

The other reason was that the Black Guard found it relaxing, therapeutic, and a good means of self-expression. Dance offs were also a nonviolent means of solving disputes while still keeping an air of competition among the troops. Dancing had become a long established tradition of the Black Guards, and they didn't show signs of giving it up anytime soon.

Everyone else found it hideously embarrassing that their elite troops couldn't just fight to the death like everyone else when arguments arose, but were too scared to tell them to stop.

Mostly they just tried not to think about it.

Roderich was not most people, and found their interest in classical music refreshing. He brought them up every time he and Ludwig argued about the waltzes. Ludwig was quick to point out that the Black Guard was very much an exception, and no one else was in the mood for waltzes.

Had Ludwig been more like his predecessors, Roderich would have been beheaded shortly after arriving at the palace. But Ludwig was not like his predecessors, and Roderich had survived long enough to ingrain himself in palace life and become friendly with a variety of powerful people. He was also the only one who understood what passed for culture in other countries, and had become vitally important to the diplomats. Not that the diplomats needed his input very often. Usually they could just remind other diplomats that this was the Black King's country and say 'or else' and the other diplomats usually fell over themselves in their hurry to back off.

Roderich spent most of his time in a room that had been specially constructed for him. It was, without a doubt, the sunniest room in the palace. Quite possibly it was the sunniest room in the Wastes, given that the default setting for much of it seemed to be 'gloom'. Roderich had demanded huge glass windows to let in the light, but had conceded to placing iron bars over them to keep out monsters that happened to be capable of flight. Most of the room was empty, with the exception of a large piano in the center of the room, a small desk, and an odd collection of chairs and stools stacked in one corner. The walls not taken up by windows were covered in paintings. Mostly they were landscapes of other countries, where the scenery was actually worth looking at. Roderich had quite a collection, and what happened to be on display at any given moment was dependent on what sorts of things Roderich felt the need to use as inspiration.

Today the walls seemed to be filled with a mixture of sunny meadows and storm clouds over the open sea. There were open spaces on the walls and canvases stacked in a corner, meaning that Roderich was in the middle of composing something and hadn't yet gotten the feel of it. Ludwig resisted the urge to flee. Roderich was even more insufferable during the creative process than he was after it. Feliciano wandered into the room, ignorant of the possible danger.

"Ve! Ludwig! These paintings are so pretty!" he ran back to Ludwig, grabbed his hand, and pulled him over to a particular painting. "Look, Ludwig! Isn't this one beautiful?"

Ludwig didn't see how this particular sunlit field was any depicted different than the one next to it. Nor did he see why Roderich had chosen to put it up on the wall, seeing as how it was making his stomach do odd summersaults.

"Ludwig, are you ok? Your face is kinda red."

"I'm fine. And stop holding my hand." Ludwig felt justified wrenching his hand out of Feliciano's grasp. The Black King did not hold hands. Even if it felt nice.

There was a loud thud behind them and Ludwig, glad for the distraction, turned to see what it was. Roderich stared back at them from across the room, glasses askew, clothes dusty, and a pile of canvases at his feet.

"Is that him?" Roderich asked. He was brushing dust off his outfit. Roderich's attire was another thing Ludwig found issue with. It was ostentatious and in direct violation of the principles of the Wastes. Things were only bright and colorful here if they were poisonous enough, cunning enough, or powerful enough to be able to get away with broadcasting their position to the world. Roderich was none of these things, but simply overly fond of color. Ludwig felt like the man was practically begging to be eaten with his bright attire.

"Well, is he?" Roderich demanded, storming over.

"Yes. This is Feliciano."

"Wonderful! Why didn't you being him to me sooner?" Roderich admonished, and then began to physically drag Feliciano over to his piano "Come! I must borrow your ears."

Ludwig followed after and watched in amusement as Roderich situated Feliciano on a stool and the fussed over him for a good while before taking a seat at his piano.

"This" he began and pulled out a packet of music sheets with some flourish "is a piece about love. And, well, I'm sure someone with your background will be able to understand the subtle nuances. I won't insult you by attempting to explain."

Roderich settled himself in front of the keyboard and began. His finger brushed softly against the keys of his instrument, and the first strains of melody began to echo through the room. Ludwig felt the air leave his lungs in one long exhalation. He'd forgotten what it was like to hear Roderich play. A glance at Feliciano showed he was similarly spellbound.

Ludwig closed his eyes and lost himself in the music. The notes flowed on and something soft began to bloom in Ludwig's chest. It was moments like this that reminded Ludwig why he let Roderich stay, even if the two of them disagreed on most issues. Roderich had a gift. Something precious. Something that didn't belong in a place like this.

The door blew open, ricocheting off the wall with a loud bang. Roderich jerked, fingers slamming down on keys and creating discordant notes. Ludwig jerked back into full awareness and was met with the sight of the Captain of the Black Guard rushing into the room, crossbow on his back and a sword and belt in his hands.

"Vash!" Roderich was saying and stuffing his music sheets out of sight. "What are you-"

"Your Majesty! Your presence is required at once." Vash held out the sword "The patrols from the dungeons just got back. They report that the traps have been triggered."

Ludwig swore and took the offered weapon.

"Ve? Traps? Like for rats?" Feliciano asked.

"No." Ludwig corrected, strapping on the sword with a look of grim determination. "Not rats. Adventurers."

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>If you expend the effort to make a story outline, it's best if you don't lose it.<strong>

***sigh***

**I'm so unorganized.**

**In other news, I'm encountering writer's block when it comes to my USUK story, so you guys get an update while I try to work through it. Heck, you might even get another one if my writer's block continues.**

**Oh, and while I'm here:**

**Happy Halloween!**

**Continue?**


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